A Bear's Tears
by Martha and cats
Summary: Some nightmares don't end on waking. OC Main Char. NOTE: Complete rewrite of 1997 short story. Comments, please?


**A Bear's Tears**  
By Martha (and cat)

It's a slow climb out of the darkness of dreams tainted with blood and musk. Torn to fragments by my struggle, they slip away before I can catch them, leaving only a bitter taste and half-remembered fury. These are no normal nightmares and I am suddenly desperate to be awake.

Lights. A murmur of conversation. The smell of antiseptic steel. It takes a moment to remember why the doctor has blue fur. I'm back in the medlab. Again.

I struggle to sit upright and only tense against the straps that hold me down. This is new. The half-remembered fury of my dreams takes root and I thrash wildly, snarling. It takes a moment to register. I'm snarling. In that instant I stop. Stop moving. Stop breathing. Stop thinking. Every atom bent on pure denial. I'm still the bear.

Damn Xavier and his promises.

- - - - -

"We can help you," he repeats, as if the battle moments ago was nothing. "We can teach you how to control your powers." He is a commanding presence, even from a wheelchair, and he offers hope. "You can keep this from happening again." An outstretched hand is offered and I accept. Around us the mall has returned to normal, no one remembers what I became, or how they stopped me. For I moment I can pretend we're normal, myself, Xavier, and Storm.

- - - - -

Hank has something in his hand, but I can't focus. This isn't real. This isn't happening. It's just another dream. A nightmare. There is a sting and the cold crisp bite of sedative as it drowns out my panic. This isn't real.

- - - - -

"Chris, can you hear me?" I could have told them this training was a bad idea. The bear is only hatred and fury, bound in sinew and bone. Logan lies healing in the corner, muttering curses at the loss of a good shirt. I can feel the bear in him, a thousand times stronger than my own. I should be grateful I'm alive, but I'm not. I'm only a tiny echo in the sea of bear, and the bear is never grateful. "Chris, you have to try." There is no pity there. From high above me she looks down, eyes of molten silver, unimpressed. It's all I can do to circle, circle, circle away and back from the scent of blood and fury.

But she stays with me. Talks me back across the sea. And slowly, slowly, the bear is chained and muzzled. Talks me through the months as it weakens, until it finally fades away.

- - - - -

A second lunge out of the darkness, tasting of bitter cold and ozone. Something is wrong. Something important. There is commotion from behind me, the other bed. I cannot see. The words are mushy noises, formless and frightened. I cannot turn my head to see. The straps. ENOUGH! Against the straps. Against the cold. Against the nightmares. Eight hundred pounds of grizzly won't be stopped. I rip the bindings free and turn, falling from the table. And no one even looks.

I think I've killed someone.

- - - - -

The bear was gone. I had no reason left to stay, and yet I did. No uniforms, just odd chores and simple fixes. Coats of paint and squeaky stairs. Grocery runs and home-cooked meals. And twice, midnight patrols to keep more mundane folks at bay. But in the end, I stayed for her. And she let me.

We were no Scott and Jean, nor Remy-Rouge, but steady in the tide of time. She was my light, I am her rock, and we can weather any sea.

- - - - -

Scott, Jean, Hank. I no longer need to see who's on the table. Still in uniforms stained with blood, they work. Frantic and afraid.

They should have killed me then, and spared me this. Flashes of nightmares. Blood and fury. A human angel of ebony and silver. Broken. Bleeding. The taste of lightning. Fragments of a horror I won't let myself remember. Lying there, dancing on the edge of madness, what's left of me that's human, dies. Only a bear's tears remain.

- - - - -

Death is a bitter darkness, but it calls to me. Memories slip away like bubbles in an ocean. Carried by a midnight tide, I drift ever downwards. Away.

I can almost feel her here, in the silence. Echoes of light and laugher. Then they are gone, swept away in the sea, and I do not want to remember.

They tell me animals do not have souls, and I am glad.

_Chris. _

Another voice in the silence. Ripples of light in the darkness.

_Chris, don't do this. _

If it was Jean I would have escaped, but it isn't and I don't. His voice ignites the memories that tear my heart to pieces. I thrash and claw and bite and gouge and tear and throw away the hope he offers.

_Chris, Why? _

_You lied. You lied to me. It wasn't dead. It wasn't chained. You only hid it. Tricked me. Tricked HER. This is all your fault!_ All that's left are bear's tears for a human heart. Still, he will not let me go.

_Chris, it wasn't you. _The voice speaks with such strength. _Someone shot her, it wasn't you. _

The blood. The rage. The taste of lightning. I throw the memories at the voice. I throw the madness and the fury. _You lie. _

_They sent an assassin. They would have killed her if you had not.. _

The voice hesitates, but I can smell its mind. Visions of my claws ripping the man to shreds, of my teeth tearing him into pieces so small an ant could not find them. Of blood. Of vengeance. Of salvation. It was not me.

_Come back Chris. Please_

He should not have to beg. Never him. I rise from the void that would have claimed me. I rise to the light. She is my life. She would have been my death. But it was not me. I rise to the sight of Hank. Of Storm.

"Chris."

She sounds so soft. So faint. She who can speak with the voice of lightning, with the colors of the wind. I remember the mindless Disney song.

"Don't leave me."

And I won't. Ever. From this life I pledge the next. And the next. And every life I live. For a love I almost lost.

I cry a bear's tears from a human heart.

_X-Men are copyright and trademark Marvel Characters, Inc. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor implied. This is a work of Fan Fiction and does not intended to infringe or devalue the copyrights of owners, however the story itself is Copyright the author, and may NOT be reposted, rearchived, or reprinted in any fashion without the express permission of the author._


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